Penelope's Secrets

Flashback 200 years

Childhood's End...

Scythia, the palace..

Spartak was the last to leave the burning cellars. The smoke from the floors above was already drifting down the stairs and he coughed on the vile bitter taste of sizzling carpets. Somewhere to his right there was a faint echo of his cough. Then another. Someone had escaped the killing spree, but maybe not for much longer. He moved cautiously in the direction whence the sound came, while holding his own breath to avoid inhaling more smoke.

There was a chest of drawers against the wall on his right. Unlike all the other drawers he had seen, which had been pulled out and ransacked, these were closed. The coughing was coming from inside. Suddenly the second drawer from the bottom slid out. Then the drawer above it. A small elfin like figure squeezed through the space between the bars. It reached back inside the drawer to retrieve something. Gold? Jewels? Spartak found it hard to see through his watery eyes and the swirling fog. No, it was a doll. The strange creature was coughing freely now, but instead of running away, it first pushed the drawers back in tidily.

From the pain in his chest Spartak knew he would have to give in to the impulse to draw in more air and smoke, or pass out. Before his cough gave him away he swooped down on the child and swept her tightly into his right arm.

"Don't make a sound, or you're dead."

He tore down a wall hanging, which had not yet caught light, with his left hand and wrapped his captive into a bundle which he slung over his shoulder. Then he drew one sword, in case anyone more deadly had escaped, and raced through the swirling smoke on the ground floor towards the main entrance, closing his eyes for a few seconds so they would adjust faster to the dim light outisde.

"Here comes another one lads! No, put your swords away. It's Spartak."

From the burning brightness inside, all he could see at first were the gleams of swords being sheathed in the flickering dark. Then, as his eyes adjusted to the clean tasting dark air outside he saw the main group of his avenging marauders. They were admiring the smoke and flames which could now be seen billowing out of most of the windows. All of them had booty. Some had wine. Others had ornaments, gold cups, or bundles of smaller items such as rings and bracelets. Further back in the shadows sat a group of sobbing women, dressed in the fine style of the Scythian nobility. The slave women and servants had been allowed to escape. All noble men, youths and boys found inside the palace had been killed or were now dying of their wounds or the choking fumes inside the crackling building. There had been some kind of party going on, so there were too many to kill in the intended manner. Most were just butchered quickly. The guard around the palace had been minimal, due to a fatal miscalculation about the risks from the rebel gladiators here in the heart of the capital.

Another small group of gladiators came up the road. They, like the rest, were all Axil's men. They had been stationed on the winding road which led down the hill from the palace to prevent anyone escaping, and also to disuade any citizens, from the town below, who might feel it their civic duty to intervene, when they saw the flames. Judging by their dark dripping swords, they had been busy. Their leader commented on seeing the women.

"I see you've saved something for us."

Spartak hailed him. "How's the road?"

The man couldn't see clearly the face of who had just called out. But the light from the palace exaggerated the dark outline of Spartak's scabbards, and the bundle on his shoulder.

"All clear Spartak. Some keen townsfolk poked their noses in at first to see what the fire was about. But they weren't expecting us. Those we didn't kill straight away, ran away and warned back the others. We didn't see anyone except civilians. I think things will stay quiet until some real soldiers come along."

"The nearest ones must be at the port. It will take a while for them to get here, and they won't hurry when they see your work. We'll split up and meet as arranged in about three hours at the entrance to the docks. We shouldn't have too many problems going through the town now. After your lesson, all the sensible townsfolk will stay quiet in their beds until they see some sign of the militia."

"Plenty of time" said the man casting a calculating eye over the plunder which lay scattered in heaps on the lawn. He paused, and made an inquiring stare at Spartak's bundle which was still slung over his shoulder.

"That looks heavy" he commented.

"There's plenty of good stuff to go around, so take your pick. But this is mine. Something special which I found in a drawer which no one else wanted..."

The man shrugged. Inviting no further challenge, Spartak strode swiftly past him down the road and into the still shadows.

Even though he was a good walk from the palace, the streets in the town were quiet and deserted, so the air still carried the sounds of the captured noblewomens' screams. Revenge was a very personal thing.

Going into a side alley, he unrolled his the bundle, which had been quiet as a mouse, onto the pavement.

"Ow!" The girl, still clutching her doll sat up and looked at him defiantly. She stood up smoothed down her dress. Spartak guessed she was probably about ten or eleven. Meanwhile, she too was coolly appraising him, and saw the two swords of notorious legend.

"You are Spartak" she stated.

"A good guess, My Lady of the Bottom Drawer" he teased her in answer. She smiled at that.

"My doll's name is Cleo" she replied. "And I am the Lady Penelope" she proudly revealed.

Spartak knew the names of most of the noble families in Scythia, many of whom had once been his patrons. But he didn't recognise this one. He thought he detected a slight accent, but maybe that was due to the strained circumstances.

"I'm just an ignorant renegade, my Lady Penelope. Perhaps if you could tell me who is your father..." he inquired.

"Oh, I suppose you wouldn't know that, as you've been chased by the army all around the country since before we arrived. I'd forgotten that. My father, is the Emperor's personally appointed ambassador from Etruria" she explained.

"And where is your father at this minute?" he asked.

"He's out in the country, chasing the renegade gladiators... Such as you" she added.

"And where is you mother?" asked Spartak, thinking that the screams would surely have penetrated the covering, and realising now they had stopped.

"She was ill and didn't want to come. She's at home in Perusia"

"You're my prisoner now so what do you think I should do with you?"

She sighed inwardly. Though a child, she had seen some of the rape and slaughter inside the palace from under some furniture where she was hiding before she made her way into the drawer. She used to hide in there sometimes when she was playing games with the other noble children. This was the moment she knew would come, and she was ready. She covered the doll's head with her hand and her voice dropped to a whisper as she looked up at Spartak and pleaded.

"Please kill Cleo first, so she doesn't have to see what happens to me."

She held the doll forward, its head still covered.

"Cut off her head. Make it quick." She added.

Gravely Spartak accepted the doll. Penelope looked away. There was a swish of his sword, then Spartak touched the top of the the girl's head and stroked it. She didn't flinch. So soft and warm. The feel reminded him of a daughter he'd lost many years before.

"Let me tell you what I'm going to do, Penelope" he said. "We're going to play a little game."

She flinched at that. She had seen some gladiator games before. They'd played cat and mouse games with some of her maidservants, letting them think they could get away, and then...

"You will stay facing the wall and count to one hundred. I will hide. Then, if you find me, I'll be your prisoner But if you don't find me, I'll escape."

She wondered if this was some kind of devious torture. Making her think she might escape. But a hundred seconds of life was better than none. She would be sure to count slowly.

"My father will find you afterwards" she said. "And he will kill you." she added firmly. Too late to unsay that threat now.

"I don't think so" Spartak replied. "But we'll see. Now... Start counting."

"One. Two. ..." Even counting slowly, she knew it would have to end. And then what? Or would he start to torture her before? Or would counting too slowly annoy him more? She'd better not make it too slow. When she got to one hundred, she continued to one hundred and one... just to be on the safe side.

Penelope was afraid to turn around. She hadn't heard Spartak leave. Still with her eyes shut, she probed the space behind her with her hands. Nothing... But perhaps he was standing just out of reach and just waiting for her to turn around. She kneeled down, with her back still turned, and felt the ground behind her. A cold chill, as her hand touched something... His foot! No, it was something else. It felt familiar. It was the leg of her doll. She picked it up, held it in front of her and willed herself to open her eyes.

Cleo's head was still attached to her shoulders, but something was missing. It was hard to see in the starlight, but it felt different. Part of the doll's fringe had been cut away. She smiled in relief. Cleo was OK. But maybe this was just another trick to make her feel safe. She decided to turn around.

Spartak had gone. An irrational voice inside her asked - should she try to find him?

She remembered back to the palace. She was not too young to have escaped the fate of her maidservants, and she surmised, from the screams, a similar fate had befallen all the women and girls captured there. She had also seen the fate of some of the men. If she'd stayed in the drawer the smoke would have killed her. If she'd run out through the entrance? Well she'd heard the screams of those, who like her had hidden till the last possible moment. And she'd also heard the laughter of the gladiators outside as they took their easy prey. That's why she had waited so long.

So it seemed that in smuggling her out past those men, that infamous devil Spartak had indeed saved her, and not just for his own amusements as she had originally feared. She also understood that no one would ever believe this version of events, or her interpretation. It would be better if she just pretended not to remember what happened. There was night and flame and confusion. Who could blame her for forgetting the details? It didn't matter. Her maidenhead was intact, that's all that mattered if you were a woman, at least until you got married. She was sure that someone would want to check that. From the events of this night, such marraigeable noble born girls would be a rare commodity. She could now look to a better marraige, if any high born husbands were still alive to marry. Well the emperor could make arrangements about that and promote some, if necessary, she thought.

Sometime during the next few hours as she waited for the dawn, she saw other things which made this a night she would never forget. First the sound of thunder, and the lone rocket ship rising on a tail of fire into the predawn sky. Then a few minutes later, the halo of a great sheet of flame covered the sky in the direction which she knew now lay the space port. The wind brought the sound of a chain of roaring blasts, followed soon after by warm air which felt good in the cold alley way. And the smell of its burning air, strangely tasted cleaner than the smoke in the palace.

Spartak would be long gone before anyone could catch him, she realised. And part of her secretly hoped he would get away.

Heavily armed men came, combing the streets of the city, and saw the doorway. They halted at the sight of a bundle of smoke stained rich tapestry.

"Here's some more of the booty from the palace, it looks like lads" said a gruff voice. Treasures had been scattered over a wide area, as drunken gladiators dropped, or discarded trophies which had seemed more precious a little while earlier.

Penelope opened her eyes at the sound of this voice. Booty? She looked up to see a line of armoured men. Were they gladiators? As she raised her head they drew their swords. Then she realised their leader was smiling. They were soldiers! She recognised the colours of the Etruscan house guard. They had not saved the space port, because of the diversion of the fire at the palace. They had not saved most of the Scythian nobles, who were either slain by the gladiators, or in the case of the women, many of those who had survived the attentions of the gladiators, had later hanged themselves or stabbed each other in grisly suicide pacts. But here the soldiers had found an even greater prize.

"Lady Penelope?" asked their leader, not trusting his good fortune. She nodded mutely. He motioned for his gaurds, who kicked down the nearest doorway, rummaged inside until they found some cushions and blankets and made a litter to carry her on.

"You're safe now. We're taking you home."

Many years later, through an arranged marraige, this foreign land of Scythia, and its rebuilt palace would become her new home, and Scythia's people would come to know her as their own. But those events still lay in the distant future. This morning, the events of the previous night began to recede in her mind's eye. Later those memories could be recalled and questioned for meaning. But for now, for the first time, she felt safe and among friends. She would stop thinking for a while and just be..

Later that day, when she saw herself in the mirror she realised that her face was streaked with smoke and tears, and she wondered how the soldiers had recognised her. Foolish, she thought later, you can tell a noble woman from her clothes even if they are torn and dirty.

She never remembered at which point she had fallen asleep again on the makeshift litter, and dropped and lost her doll. That part of her childhood now lay behind her, and she would never be certain whether she had dreamed or imagined Cleo's new haircut. She gave up dolls from that time on.

When Penelope became old enough to spend her own money, her father was surprised to see that in addition to the dresses and jewellery and white stallions, which were the natural leisure pursuit of every noble maiden of her age, for some strange reason cabinet makers were also unusually favoured by her commissions. He did suppose it might have something to do with the events of that dreadful night when the rebels burnt down the palace in Scythia , but as wooden drawers cost a lot less than most other hobbies, he thought it best to leave well alone.